


Fly Me to the Moon

by cecilkirk



Series: Heliocentric [2]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, domestic AU, literally just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6055486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over an easy morning, Ryan realizes how lucky he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly Me to the Moon

Ryan was up before the sun.

He didn’t sleep well. Never really had. It’s his depression; he either sleeps for four hours or fourteen, nowhere in between. Evidently, this night was the former. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep no matter how tired he was. He’d learned to create his own routines. One of them was existing quietly in these early mornings.

Brendon was facing the wall. His back was curved slightly away from Ryan, shirt having inched up around his waist. He didn’t know if Brendon was aware of his sleeping problems, but he hoped not—he tried to stay still in bed, or leave early if he knew he would be restless. He wanted his problems to be oblivious to Brendon, even after all this time.

Ryan rubs his wedding ring around his fingers. It had begun to feel like it was missing because it had lived on his finger for so long.

A bright grin blooms on Ryan’s face. In that moment, nothing could have made him happier.

 

 

 

There was something about the sunrise Ryan would never get over. Even through his exhaustion and frustration at his insomnia, the vivid colors melted his anguish. A peace settled over him and crept into his bones as he watched the sun announce its arrival. Always unique, and today, it was just for him.

He sips his coffee, staring out the patio door. In these early mornings he was left to sort himself out. With the light of the sun before him, a buoyant hope enveloped every one of his thoughts. Everything would be good. Everything would be okay.

Brendon enters the kitchen whistling tunelessly, walking to stand behind Ryan.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Ryan says, mug to his lips.

Brendon wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist, pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

“So are you,” Ryan says.

Brendon rests his head against Ryan’s shoulder, hugging him tighter. “Don’t sleep well without you by me anymore.”

Ryan grins into his coffee. “Are you hungry?”

Brendon drops his arms and brings them up to Ryan’s shoulders. “Oh, always.”

“Then let’s make something.”

“Like what?”

Ryan turns to face Brendon. He can’t force down a smile at his messy hair and wrinkled shirt. “Pancakes. Eggs. Bacon. Anything and everything.”

Brendon takes Ryan’s coffee, downs the remaining half mug, and sets it on the table behind him. “That sounds wonderful.” He kisses Ryan on the cheek before making his way to the oven.

 

 

 

“Bren, I can’t _believe_ —”

“Listen. I didn’t mean—” the _fwap fwap fwap_ of a towel being whipped through the air—“to punch the time in wrong, but—”

The granite counter digs into Ryan’s kneecaps. “Why couldn’t you make toast in the toaster?” Even from this vantage point, his fingers still don’t grip the smoke alarm well enough to rip it from the ceiling. “Who even uses the oven for toast?”

“I found it online, and I just wanted to give it a go,” Brendon offers. He walks across the room to open the patio door.

“Did you even think to look at reviews? Or comments? Or—”

The alarm gives way, finally, and Ryan inadvertently shoves it to his chest, his center of gravity shifting back and back and back—

but Brendon catches him. Awkwardly he grabbed Ryan’s torso and helped him to the ground.

“You all right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, blood heating his cheeks. “Sorry for—”

“It’s okay. I understand.” Brendon offers his hand to help Ryan up. “Forget the toast. I’ll stick to what I know.”

“And what is that?” Ryan asks facetiously.

“Pancakes. And that I love you, even if you’re a klutz.”

Ryan blinks; a new wave of heat blooms in his cheeks. “’Even’?” he tries with a smile.

Brendon shrugs. “Especially. Always will, regardless.”

“That’s quite the promise,” Ryan says firmly, full of lighthearted joke, but he can’t meet Brendon’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t have married you if it weren’t true.”

Brendon kisses Ryan’s forehead, and Ryan cannot help but smile.

 

 

 

Somehow, somehow, their CD player still works. Music pours over them—around the table, in their words, between their chairs across from the other. Sun is dripping into the kitchen, filling the room, the house, even their very hearts with light. What little food is left is the remnants of Brendon’s successful cooking. It’s to be saved for another time. When they finish traversing these moments, they will address that then. But for now, but for now…

Ryan had recognized few of the songs on this handmade mix CD, but this one he does. Brendon’s eyes light up as the first notes trickle into the room. He stands and walks into the living room where the music emanates from, gesturing for Ryan to follow.

Brendon turns the volume up, but not loud enough that his voice can’t be heard over Frank Sinatra’s. He holds a hand out to Ryan—this time, to ask for a dance.

Ryan puts his arms around Brendon’s shoulders, and Brendon puts his around Ryan’s waist. They find the song’s rhythm and then their own. Brendon rests his face in the crook of Ryan’s neck, humming the words against Ryan’s skin.

When he closes his eyes, he becomes aware of it all: Brendon’s stubble on his neck, Brendon’s fingers on his hips, Brendon’s lips stretched into a smile as he sings. He thinks of how they both loved Sinatra before they loved each other; how fate made sure they had this in common, maybe even going out of its way to make this moment. He can feel Brendon’s ring through his shirt, the sunshine on his hands. He can even still smell burnt toast still in the air.

Ryan grins at this.

And suddenly, thoughts are flooding his mind and his jaw clenches and his eyes well up and he keeps smiling wider and wider, and he’s so distracted by himself he doesn’t notice the song has ended or that Brendon has stopped dancing.

“Hey, are you okay, Ry?” Brendon asks.

Ryan nods, swallowing. He kisses Brendon, lips melting into a grin he can’t fight even to kiss decently. He wraps his arms around Brendon’s shoulders, pulling him as close as he can. The sun had soaked into his shirt, and now Ryan can feel it bleeding into his forearms and fingers.

“I love you, sunshine,” Ryan whispers, words squeaking around tears. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Brendon kisses Ryan’s cheek, letting his hands come up to rub Ryan’s lower back. “I love you too.” He presses his fingertips against Ryan’s spine, fitting between the spaces. “Fly me to the moon, Ryan Ross.”


End file.
